Second Chance
by 13rosesarered
Summary: AU Elena runs an organization the sends out assassin for the supernatural. What happens when an old enemy comes back looking everyones blood?


**Hi again.. yes I know you all porbably hate me for quiting my last story but let me make it up to you guys when this one. I hope you guys can find it in your herats to give me another chance. This story specifically this chapter will start off confusing but if you guys got any question just add it in a review or send me a message. I am looking for a beta if anyones interested.. With out further ado here you guys go…..**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the vampire diaires but I want a damon thx y'all**

The names were blurring on the page. They always did.  
"Say again?" she said tiredly. Elena rubbed at her forehead with one hand, a throbbing headache taking root above her eyes. She could have erased it with one question, an ounce of witch power, but she didn't. This pain took away another, stealthier pain.  
A hand wrapped around her wrist, and drew her arm down to the table. "I think we've done enough for tonight," Alaric Saltzman said. His eyes were kind, a little pitying. "You're shattered."  
She wanted to laugh out loud, but knew the sound would be bitter, harsh as a raven posturing over carrion. That was truer than he knew.  
"It's early," she said. So early, and there were all these files to wade through, paper piled high.  
She'd never understood just what the assassins had meant when they talked about a contract. She'd imagined a flimsy piece of paper, but instead, it was a thick document, packed with every detail of every mark's life. From the car they drove to the way they took their coffee.  
Alaric groaned half-heartedly. "Aren't you hungry?"  
Hunger... She paused from flicking through another file, her fingers riddled with papercuts she no longer felt. Yes, there was always a constant ache in her now, but if she didn't eat, at least she could pretend it was food she needed.  
"No," Elena said, and bent her head back to the folder.  
"Look, it's pretty unlikely any of this lot are going to bite the gravedust tonight," wheedled Alaric. "Elena, c'mon! I know they're all important to you, I know that, but even we have to sleep."  
But that was it.  
However much she pored over these files, with their photographs in splashes of bright colour, with their neatly typed words and sometimes surprisingly tender observations, they meant nothing. It seemed an effort even to read them, let alone feel any compassion for these people thrust up as targets for Night's hunters. Desperately, she tried to care about the family man who had snubbed the wrong supernatural lord, the young working woman who'd overheard the wrong conversation, but she remained blank.  
She wanted herself back again. To be that livid, scared human being who had stood up to Damon Salvatore time and again, who had been so naïve as not to know she loved him. If only she could rip away those times and live them forever, glorying in her innocence, in her tragic self-belief.  
Better than being this hollow, congealed creature.  
She searched the contracts, hoping to see something that would raise anger in her, feigning sharp words in the hope something would echo in her soul, wanting to feel pity instead of this flat, dead regret.  
All she found was her belief that it didn't matter.  
How could it matter? How could anything matter when there existed the surety that she could not win in this endless intricate game of lives? When she found herself not a player but a piece?  
The belief grew everyday, and her despair with it. It couldn't be true, oh gods, it couldn't be true. If she could find one life that touched her, one sentence that made her heart stir, it would not be true.

"Go to bed," she ordered without looking up. "I'll carry on. I'll sleep later."  
She didn't see the resignation in Alaric's face. She didn't need to; they'd played out this scene for weeks. Sometimes Bonnie would be there, punching the air at her stubbornness; sometimes Stefan with his soft pleading. None of them made a difference.  
But instead of muttering something sullen and wandering off, he folded his arms. "No, you won't. I know this one, girl, and I ain't buying. You'll stay up all night, and you'll be here when I get up tomorrow, and then you'll lie about it."  
"Fine," she murmured, fingers red and rough from flicking through too many pages. "I won't bother lying next time."  
A strange, low sound filled the room and it was a good few seconds before she realised it was Alaric, growling. A glance up told her it might be time to overturn the table and take shelter under it - his eyes were narrowed, while the foot he was tapping had become a blur.  
"You. Cannot. Live. This. Way. Elena, you will kill yourself. You're a ghost as it is - you looked in a mirror lately?"  
He reached over and tugged her hair, fingers catching on the knots. For a moment, she thought he'd done it in spite - in a crazy flash, it seemed it wasn't Alaric at all, but a boy who'd cast a shadow long across her life, yet in his absence, seemed to have blotted out all light. His voice echoed in her head, quizzical and cold.  
_ Tell me, what do you see when you look in the mirror now?_  
And his betrayal slashed her again, she bled again.  
Even the numbness was better.  
But she blinked, and it was only Alaric with his eyes so full of compassion that he could never be Damon. Only Alaric, safe, solid, calm. And she cursed him for it.  
"Please..." the teacher said, tipping up her face with gentle fingers. "Leave it. Get some shuteye."  
Go to her empty bed, where there was no imprint of his body, where his weight would not be warm and heavy at her side - where there was too much room for her to turn endlessly, tangling the sheets between her legs. Wanting back his cruelty, his taunts, his unexpected serenity, wanting anything but her lonely world.  
"Tomorrow," she said, not meaning it.  
He scowled.  
"Promise," she said, not meaning it.  
A sigh escaped him. "Okay. But if you don't keep it, I'll make Stefan sing. And until you've heard his rendition of 'My Heart Will Go On', you've never known torture."  
She half-smiled, because it was what was expected, before bending her attention back to the files.  
Distantly, the creak of the stairs registered; the low noises of hurried chat as the house settled into silence like some great lazing lion.  
Page after page turned under her eyes. She was reaching for the next file, knuckles knocking her half-empty coffee, cold and scummy with milk. And then her eyes focused on the name.  
Black printed copperplate. She read it once.  
And in her heart, faint as a beacon on the edge of the horizon, something flickered.  
Again, Elena read the name. In the hush, she became aware of her heartbeat, quicker than it had been, pounding out the rhythms of her pain. And again, hardly believing it.  
Of course, it was only logical it should be here, among the legions of the other condemned. But she hadn't thought...she'd never really believed. This file was different from all the others.  
It was Tyler's. And it made interest tingle icily in the back of her head.  
She'd never known exactly why it was he'd come to Mystic Falls; as the son of a prominent political family, there was virtually nothing his family connections couldn't buy, bribe or bully him out of. And yet, those laughing green eyes would cool every time she asked, and the one time she had dared to push him, neither of them spoke again until the bruise on her arm and the cut on his face had healed.  
Slowly, she opened it. The first page wasn't the usual neat typeface, but handwritten, and on an expensive, gilt-laden letterhead at that, though someone had had the sense to laminate it. A label in the corner read: 'Extracted, Jubatus Vault, Rothschilde Bank, 13.02.11 by A. Saltzman.'  
She knew enough jargon now to translate. Alaric had stolen it, thirty-odd years ago. The writing was long and sloping, easy to read.  
_January 19th, 1944  
For Richard and Carol, future parents of Tyler Lockwood; that you may understand your child's future, and suffer his loss with grace:  
We have always been an honourable family. We were most faithful to the Council, and for that, He gave us the gift of prophecy; to see in flames the shape of the future where others see the shapes of the smoke.  
We had thought our last seer dead, but shortly after Samhain of last year, I received a letter from her. I enclose it here in full. Remember that our seers have led us to high status and renown, even when their prophecies are hard to accept  
In blood and honour,  
Mason Lockwood  
_  
Blood and honour. She traced the crest at the top of the parchment that bore the same motto in Latin. Tyler's family had supported the Council? Yes...deep in the hidden crevices of her memory, she glimpsed Klaus with his hand resting casually on a wolf's back, fondling the thick fur, as one might a favoured pet.  
Most faithful. And most enslaved. Elena shuddered, angry that those dark times should still reach across the years to touch her now.  
Our memory will never fade," she heard Klaus murmur, his voice fresh and confident as if he stood beside her. "We are the greatest of them all. And they will know it."  
They knew it. They hated it - and they killed you for it.  
Curious now, she flipped over the letter. Pinned underneath was another letterhead, the crest identical but the words different, and the handwriting cramped and hurried.  
_Seen in the flames by Merle Lockwood , November 1st, 1943  
Dearest Mason,  
Please pass this on to your nephew's family. The sight comes to me only rarely now, but last night I was shown some most startling events in the Samhain bonfires.  
The good news first - Richard will rise to become the head of the council, and further increase our influence among the supernatural world. He will have two children; the elder a girl, and the younger a boy, both strong in power. The boy will be Tyler, named for my father, and the girl Violet.  
The boy will commit a great crime, and be exiled for his sins; but in his exile, he will balance the evil he had done with many small acts, and one great one. Impossible though it seems, Klaus Michelson will return, and seek war. He will call to the Council like a blood moon rising, call them back from beyond the grave if he must, and they will be powerless against him.  
He is not dead; far from it, and he wants the world to burn.  
Tyler's part in this will be significant, yet he will have to sacrifice one he holds most dear if he is to have even a chance of success. If there is weakness in his character - he will fail. The Burning Times will return, and this time, there will be no Mikael, no Esther. We supported the Council to ensure our survival - but the world can no longer suffer the wrath of the Hybrids. He must be strong, and those around him must be strong, for he will have some part in Klaus's awakening and if he realises...if he falters...well, I am glad that I shall be nothing but bones picked clean.  
I am sorry to be the bearer of such news,  
Merle Loackwood  
Seer _  
Oh, sweet Goddess.  
Elena read the words over and over, desperately hoping they would change; that it was not true. Please, no. If she closed her eyes, Klaus was there, imprinted on her eyelids as he was imprinted on her heart.  
Elena shuddered. She would be lost to Klaus - there would be no chance to fight, nothing but the titanic violence of the Hybrid. No resisting His's call - he was Ether, Spirit.  
"The world can no longer suffer the wrath of Hybrids," Elena quoted softly, "But it looks like we will."  
Did the others know? She was sure Esther did not, and as for Mikael, well, he would be saying nothing. Unless Klaus should come, and give him back his soul with one careless gesture.  
And Damon...  
She put her head in her hands, fingers scrubbing at her temples. She had thought the sharp sting of his absence would fade. But here she was, and some part of her still yearned for him, a part logic could not touch.  
She had to know. If Klaus was truly going to return...  
She had to talk to Damon.

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